More Than a Client
by bobness
Summary: USUK AU. Arthur is a sergeant trying to fit into normal, civilian life once more. His cheerful repairman somehow makes it much easier. Secret Santa gift for abarero, rated K plus for slight language.


**As the description says, this is for __****abarero**** (which was daunting, 'cause she's this awesome fanfic writer and I'm like, "Hello, I can form a few jumbled sentences together to make something.") from the USUK Secret Santa gift exchange. I apologize for the lateness- I thought this file was lost forever, so I was about to pull out, but three days ago, I managed to recover the file. XD**

******The prompt was, "Arthur is a sergeant who is finally home from the war and trying to settle back into a normal life, Alfred is the cheerful repairman for Arthur's building. Cue hijinks, awkward elevator rides, Arthur finding random things in his apartment for Alfred to fix, etc. I'd love to see this develop from first crush to a relationship. Fluff and humor are a must."  
**

******Thanks so much to _Auto-Alchemechanicist _for beta-ing this for me at the very last minute. :D  
**

* * *

Arthur stared angrily at his television set, willing it to work with just a well-practiced glare. It hadn't even been three weeks, and he was already in need of some repairs around his apartment. Sure, it wasn't the best apartment, and that wasn't the best television, but he would have expected his belongings to work beyond three weeks, especially when the guy he bought it from said it should work for about four years.

And even after Arthur had called to complain that the television didn't even work for a quarter of that allotted amount of time, the guy cheerfully exclaimed, "No refunds!" before hanging up.

If Arthur wasn't such a gentleman, he would have given the seller a good throttle.

As it was, though, he didn't want to get in trouble with the law, so he decided to forgo the beating that guy deserved and focus more on fixing his broken appliance.

He never was good with mechanics, so after a few aimed kicks and a good amount of quiet grumbles (he was quiet in his own opinion, but the neighbors would probably say otherwise), he reached for the phone book and started flipping through, scanning the pages for a repairman.

Jones' Repair was the one he finally chose, based on the sole fact that they had the largest advertisement on the page, and the older man on the other end told him that someone would be there in the next hour.

Arthur was more than relieved when it took a mere twenty minutes for the doorbell to ring.

"You're earlier than I expected," the Englishman commented, allowing the young repairman inside. He wasn't bad-looking for a repair guy, what with that nice, blond hair (and some sort of cowlick that would have looked awkward on any other man, but looked quite fitting on this one), large, blue eyes (the spectacles he wore just showed off the color even more so), and a very nice build (Arthur would have labeled him as an athlete rather than a repairman).

The repair guy laughed just slightly, looking around the small apartment. "Well, my old pops runs the place, so I like to give our business a good name, you know?"

Arthur blinked as he closed the door. "Oh," he muttered. "So, you're the owner's son?"

"Yep! Alfred F. Jones, at your service!" The young repairman held out his hand, which Arthur cautiously shook. "I've been working at the shop for as long as I can remember. My dad taught me, and since I was real good at this stuff, he employed me. I really enjoy doing it, though, so I don't mind being more or less forced into it." Alfred shrugged. "So, where's the T.V. that needs- ah, there it is." He found it easily, as it was in the very front of the living room. "How long have you had it?"

"Just three weeks," Arthur replied, watching as Alfred set his tool box on the floor. "I bought it from a friend's friend, and he doesn't seem very keen on giving me a refund on this."

Alfred clicked his tongue. "What about your old T.V.?" he asked, kneeling down to look it over. "The one you had before this one. Why don't you try getting that one back? Or was it broken, too?"

Arthur smirked, though he knew Alfred couldn't see him. "I left everything back in Britain," he responded, rubbing at his arm.

"Why's that?" Alfred was pulling the television back from the wall.

"I just needed a change," was the simple answer Arthur gave to him. Luckily, Alfred seemed to take that as his cue not to pry anymore.

It took the handsome repairman all of two minutes to fix the problem. "There!" he exclaimed, just as Arthur sat down to watch. "All fixed!" To prove his point, he pressed the "on" button. Miraculously enough, the television worked just fine. Arthur goggled as Alfred push the T.V. set back into its original position.

"How in the world did you do that so quickly?" he asked quietly, now having to stand from his seat.

Alfred, gathering his materials back into his arms, laughed. "It was unplugged," he responded. "Not enough that it was overly noticeable, but enough that it caused the T.V. not to work."

Arthur felt ridiculous. He had just made a fool out of himself in front of a very nice, young man. "Really?" He swallowed nervously. "I was so sure I had checked the plug."

"Did you jostle it?" Alfred asked. "Like, before you called, did you kinda move it around to see if that would work?"

"Can't say that I did," Arthur muttered, reminding himself to thoroughly investigate the problems more next time around instead of instantly assuming that it was an internal problem. Besides, it was elementary knowledge to check the plug before calling anyone. Even Google could have told him that. "Anyway, I do appreciate your help."

Alfred smirked. "You could have done that yourself, though," he pointed out, just adding to Arthur's injury. "But, hey, since it was something as simple as a plug, I'll give you a slight discount."

Arthur blinked. "Is that so?" He raised a large eyebrow, looking incredulous. "Are you sure you won't get in any trouble with your boss?"

"Hey, my boss is my old man," Alfred pointed out. "I'll be fine. I've done this once or twice before. I mean, it's normally to those elderly ladies who don't know the remote from the antenna, but I gotta cut you some slack, too, if I cut them some slack."

The Englishman could have punched him if he wasn't so handsome and damn cheerful. With a few grumbles, Arthur dug his wallet from his pocket and pulled out some fresh twenty-dollar bills. "How much?" he asked.

Alfred gave him the price (and it _was_ much cheaper than Arthur had been expecting to pay, so he was internally grateful for that small blessing), it was paid, and the repairman went on his way, but not before saying, "Give me a call if you need anything else fixed, sir!"

Alfred's number, though Arthur didn't know just yet, would prove to be very useful.

* * *

"So soon?" Alfred had laughed once Arthur let him in. "Geez, did you check the plug this time?"

Arthur refrained from doing anything too drastic. Instead, he turned his back on the young repairman, allowing him to step into the living room. "It's this damn light," the Briton explained, though he knew that Alfred had probably already been briefed on the general problem by his father. "It keeps flickering." He pointed up at the ceiling lamp, which was indeed flickering, the light growing dimmer and dimmer.

Alfred smiled. "So, not a plug problem, then?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. If it weren't for the cheaper prices and better quality-service, Arthur would have phoned another repair company. "No, I guess not." Noticing Alfred's amused stare, a dash of red colored each of Arthur's cheeks, and he mentally cursed his situation. "Well, what the bloody hell are you waiting for? Payment in advance?"

"Nah." Alfred laid out his tools on Arthur's clean carpet. "Would be nice, but you seem kinda like a cheapskate." Ignoring the stammered response coming from his client, Alfred laughed again. "Wait here, sir. I gotta grab my ladder."

The young man worked on it for a little bit before finishing up in less time than Arthur expected, yet again. "Let me guess," the irritable Englishman started, watching as Alfred folded the step-ladder up. "There was some hidden plug that I missed."

Alfred shook his head. "Nope, but it's good to see you're not sore about that joke anymore!" He missed Arthur's glare. "There was just a faulty circuit in there. I tried to fix it, but I didn't bring all of the right tools along, unfortunately, so I'm afraid to say that I'll have to come by tomorrow." Noticing Arthur's raised eyebrows, Alfred added, "I mean, it's simple enough, but I doubt there was anyway _you_ could have done to repair it." Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but Alfred cut him off. "I'm not trying to be rude to you or nothing. Just that you're not a repairman. If you had tried something, you might have gotten shocked from the wires." He smiled, and Arthur noted (with great pleasure, he had to reluctantly admit to himself) that this smile seemed very genuine. It was good to see that someone cared enough for Arthur to show concern over his safety. Even if it _was_ an infuriating American, Arthur felt noticed as something more than just another client.

He felt noticed as a human being, something that hadn't really happened to him all that much.

"Yes, well..." Arthur cleared his throat. "Would you like any help carrying that-"

"I got it!" Alfred exclaimed, his cheerful grin coming right back to his youthful face. "Do you mind if I wash my hands real quickly, though? These gloves make my fingers all sweaty." With that said, he tore the gloves from his hands, wiggling his fingers about as if to bring some fresh air to them to drive away the sweat.

Arthur pointed towards the kitchen. "I don't mind," he replied. "Don't use all my soap, though."

Alfred raised his eyebrows as he walked over to the nearby kitchen. "Now, sir, who the hell would use up all of your soap for a little bit of sweat?" He turned the water on and Arthur watched, green eyes boring into his back.

"Well, my brother would," he responded. "He knows that I like having soap in my house, and so he takes the liberty of using it all up so I have to go buy more." Just thinking about young Peter was enough to bring both fond and not-so-fond memories about. "Cheeky bastard of a kid."

Drying his hands, Alfred said, "Sounds adorable, actually. Kids do the darndest things, don't they?"

"Yes, and I do wish they wouldn't." Arthur sighed as Alfred straightened up. "Soap isn't all that cheap anymore, and it's ridiculous to have to buy new soap simply because my brother likes to cause destruction wherever he goes."

"It's just _soap_," Alfred pointed out, walking back into the living room to grab his tools.

"I know," Arthur snapped. "I know it's just soap, but it's _my_ soap!"

"Possessive, aren't ya?" Alfred grinned and nodded his head to the front door. "Mind letting me out? I kinda got my hands full."

Without saying a word, Arthur did as Alfred asked, glaring at him all the while. "I'm not possessive," he finally growled, once Alfred stood outside, poised to use the elevator to make his way down to the lobby. "I just like keeping control of things. I hate people taking materials from me like that."

Control was something he didn't always have. Control was something he had just gained back, and he wasn't willing to lose it so quickly. When his soap was gone, when other people stole his soap to complete their own purposes, Arthur knew he lost control. After all, if he couldn't keep his soap in place, how would he be able to keep anything else in place? How could he stop anyone from taking anything else from him? One day it was his soap, the next day it was his freedom.

It was quite a lot to get out of using up all the soap, but it was important to him.

Control was important to him. Control of his life and all that came with it, including the soap that no one stops to think for a second about.

They never took time to think about the soap. They never took time to think about the freedom. It was just _there_, like the grass in a field and the buildings in a city. You couldn't imagine a field without grass or a city without buildings, and people, especially in the United States, couldn't imagine life without freedom, life without soap. It was ridiculous to them. To Arthur, though, it was meaningful. Soap stood for freedom. Soap stood for control.

And no one, no one at all, saw what he saw in the soap.

Alfred stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at the man, blue eyes wide behind spectacles. "Dude," he said, shaking his head and repeating his earlier statement. "It's just _soap_."

And that just proved the point in Arthur's mind, proved the point that nobody truly thought about it but him. He could have been crazy, for all he knew, but he didn't care. Maybe being crazy was what it took to be sane.

With one last look of disgust at Alfred, Arthur slammed his front door shut.

* * *

Arthur wasn't sure if he wanted to face Alfred. After the little incident the other day, he believed that he would feel fine if he and Alfred never crossed paths again. Alfred was actually rather cute (as much as Arthur hated to admit it), but Alfred probably thought that Arthur was just a senile, old man who had this thing for soap.

Really, Arthur didn't blame him if he thought that.

So it was quite a surprise when Alfred showed up the next day carrying his tools and a bag filled with hand soap.

"Here ya go!" he exclaimed, shoving the bag into Arthur's hands as he stepped inside, seemingly familiarized with Arthur's small apartment already.

The Englishman blinked in confusion. "I...well, this is slightly, um, unexpected," he said, feeling his cheeks turn red. So Alfred took all of his words to heart, did he? Alfred cared about what he had to say. "I suppose I ought to say thank you-"

"Don't bother," Alfred responded, waving Arthur's sentence off. "I mean, I think I kinda insulted you yesterday, and I'm never supposed to do that to a customer. It was wrong of me, and I apologize." He gestured towards the bag in Arthur's hands. "It's cheap soap, though. I'm on a tight budget right now, so I'm real sorry it's nothing fancy, but I think I got the same brand, since it's-"

"It's fine," Arthur interrupted, setting the bag on the kitchen counter next to him. "Really. It's the exact same brand, and, well, it's fine." He finally managed to smile, though it passed from his face rather quickly. "Thanks."

Alfred stared at him for a few seconds before grinning. "Yeah! You know, making a customer happy is all I'm here to do! Even if it's just plain soap." He shrugged and turned back to his tools. "This shouldn't take too long, and then I'll be out of your hair, so don't you worry about anything."

He needn't had said that, for Arthur just disregarded it. He wanted to do something nice now for the cute repairman. He _had_ to. Alfred thought of him and bought him all that soap, so Arthur had to show his gratitude and return the favor. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what Alfred liked or needed.

Instead of thinking it over for a long while, he turned to his kitchen for help, and began brewing the tea.

By the time Alfred was finished fixing the light (and, in Arthur's eyes, it just shone brighter than before), Arthur had laid out two places on the small table in the corner of his living room, complete with tea and the leftover scones he baked the other night. "Would you like some tea and snacks before you head out?" Arthur asked, watching Alfred pack up. "I mean, it's the least I can do, since you're being so helpful and all."

"Because you're paying me!" Alfred laughed.

Arthur couldn't deny that fact. But he wasn't going to admit it. "Look, sir," he growled. "I'm not very kind to many people these days, so if you would _please_ give me a yes or no, that would be lovely." And before Alfred could open his mouth again, Arthur added, "And it better be a yes, because I'm not going to waste a perfectly fine cup of tea."

Alfred clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before sitting at the spot Arthur had set for him. The Briton sat on the other side, relieved that Alfred actually took him up on that offer. "Coffee is more of my thing," the repairman stated, even as he took a sip of the tea.

Arthur noticed he didn't even touch the scone. That could have been because he didn't like scones, or because these particular scones were completely black (in Arthur's defense, The Bachelor was at the good part and he couldn't very well leave in the middle of a shocking confession, could he?).

"I don't stock my apartment to accommodate the repairman," Arthur muttered, causing Alfred to laugh once more.

"Nah, don't suppose you do. Wouldn't that be a hoot, though? People would be like, 'Arthur, what's with all the donuts?' or, 'Arthur, why are you buying thirty pounds of coffee?' and you'd be all, 'My repairman likes this shit'." Alfred snorted in humor. "Dude, that would be _gold_, wouldn't it?"

Arthur nodded, raising his eyebrows. "Bloody hilarious," he answered. "People would most certainly line up for miles to see that."

Either Alfred was ignoring his sarcasm or he was just stupid, because he smiled in agreement. "Yeah, seriously, they totally would! No one ever buys stuff for their repairmen! I mean, usually we're just like machines. We fix your stuff, you pay us, end of story. We're not humans to most people."

"You're a human to me," Arthur blurted without even bothering to think over his words. When Alfred fell silent, Arthur looked away, feeling stupid. "I-I mean, I wouldn't have given you money, otherwise." Oh, dear Lord, what the hell was he babbling about? _Arthur, keep your mouth shut,_ he told himself, gritting his teeth together.

"Oh." Alfred nodded, and Arthur felt the awkward atmosphere thicken. "Yeah, glad that you pay me and all!" He sat quietly for a moment, and when Arthur made no move to speak up, Alfred stood from his chair. "Thanks for the tea and the charcoal. I gotta go now, though."

"Yes, thanks for the light." Arthur followed suit, getting up from his chair. "I mean, for fixing it, obviously. I'll mail your father the bill later. Is that alright?"

"Sure. Pops won't mind." Alfred grabbed his tools and grinned brightly. "Remember, call if you need anything else, 'kay?"

Arthur both hoped he would and hoped he wouldn't. "Yes, I certainly will."

Right before Alfred left, Arthur managed to call out, "And those were scones, you arsehole!"

* * *

He didn't know whether or not Alfred would get tired of him calling. Surely no one called their repairman three times in one month, did they? Arthur wasn't certain, but this _was_ an emergency.

His oven was broken.

With his oven broken, there was no way for him to cook, and it would be terribly expensive to continue eating takeout. Besides that, he used the oven to heat up water for his tea, and since he had no microwave, it was looking very impossible for him to simply drink Earl Grey. Therefore, calling the repairman wouldn't be him just trying to get closer. Nope, this was an emergency.

Arthur told Alfred all of that, but decided not to mention that he had broken his oven on purpose in the first place. It wasn't too difficult to break it (actually, it was easier to break his oven than it was to cook with his oven), and rather than try to fix it himself, Arthur had decided to throw all caution to the wind and call Alfred, who gladly agreed to come fix it.

"Geez, man, and people say _I'm_ destructive," Alfred said with a grin as he laid his tools out on the floor. "Seriously, you must have a knack for breaking things."

"And you have a knack for fixing things," Arthur muttered.

Alfred snorted in laughter. "No shit, Sherlock," he said in good humor. "I'm a repairman and you're some sort of wrecker. We go perfect together, huh?"

Perhaps it was the wrong choice of words, for Arthur's face turned red and Alfred, realizing what he was accidentally implying, looked shocked. "I-I meant, you know, in a repairman and customer sort of way. It was just, like- I'm gonna get started on your oven now." He quickly stepped forward, hiding his face from Arthur, though the Englishman could tell that Alfred was blushing just as much as he himself was.

"Yes, that's probably a good idea," Arthur responded quietly. "I haven't had any tea since this thing broke."

"You Europeans seriously love your fancy tea," Alfred mumbled under his breath, pulling the oven from the wall. "Uh-huh, looks like you just decided to burn the shit outta this baby."

Arthur hovered around, trying to look alarmed. As it was, though, he had a very nice view of Alfred's ass and couldn't do much other than glance at it inconspicuously and try to hide the colors that were trying to rise to his cheeks again. "Is there any way to fix it?"

"Doubt it." Alfred shook his head after a few more seconds of inspection. "How many times have you burnt this thing?"

"A couple."

"A couple more than you ought to." Alfred stepped back and sighed. "Well, all I can say is that you'd better have money for a new oven."

Arthur shifted on his feet. "I have a tad bit saved up," he responded quietly, suddenly realizing the extent of the situation. He had forgotten that these things cost money, something he didn't have too much of at the moment.

Alfred stared at him, noticing his internal struggle. "You got a job?"

"No." Arthur slowly shook his head, feeling quite embarrassed. "I, uh, I just recently arrived home from Afghanistan and I haven't exactly been trying to find a job." He shrugged. "My therapist told me to fit myself into normal society before worrying about that, so I've been living off what little money I had left over from my transition from Britain to America."

That same, blue-eyed stare was on him and Arthur was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the silence, but then Alfred asked, "You were in the army?"

"Yes." Arthur swallowed nervously. "Sergeant."

"Dude." Alfred let out a low whistle. "That's pretty awesome. I'm really fond of the military. If I hadn't become a repairman, I would have joined the army myself." He smiled kindly at Arthur. "Tell you what, as payment for the services you gave to your country, how 'bout I pitch in to help you buy a new oven? Can't have a strong soldier like yourself starving, huh?"

Arthur blinked, not having expected Alfred to volunteer anything of the sort. "W-Well, that's quite alright. I'm sure I could borrow some money from-"

"Not hearing it," the young repairman interrupted. "It's all in a day's work, sir. We'll go look at ovens and buy one and I'll install it when I get the chance. Might be tomorrow, so if you can survive on fast food or something for one day, you know-"

"Wait!" He was talking too fast for Arthur's good. "We're going shopping today or tomorrow?"

"Today," Alfred confirmed. "And _I'm_ the one who'll be paying, not you." His soft features were turned up in a smile, brightening both the room and Arthur's own heart. He hadn't met too many people that were _this_ kind, and it was both a nice change and an incredibly sweet gesture.

"We'll see," he muttered, sticking his hands in his pocket. "If you do insist on paying, though, I'm going to pay at least part of it."

"Hm..." Alfred thought it over (needlessly) before beaming. "Fair enough. Grab your wallet and let's go!"

Only after they bought the oven did Arthur wonder whether or not that could count as their first date. He figured it could, since Alfred gave him his cell number.

(Alfred claimed it was for easier access to a personal repairman, but Arthur felt it was something more special than that.)

* * *

"So," Alfred muttered, giving Arthur a quirky smile. "Your computer, huh?"

Arthur swallowed nervously, willing himself to stare right back at the repairman. "Yes," he responded. "My computer this time."

It was pretty obvious that the computer in question wasn't new. It was also pretty obvious that the computer had been broken for some time, if the layer of dust was anything to go by. Arthur, though, hadn't thought the plan all the way through. He just wanted to see Alfred once more, and since he certainly wasn't willing to break his brand new laptop for his romantic endeavors (if they could even be called such), he rummaged through his closet and found that old one he brought along with him from Britain, one of the only things he actually kept.

He thought it would be a sneaky and brilliant way to get Alfred to come back, but his elated high at being able to see Alfred overshadowed his actual intelligence and observation skills. Only now did he realize just how dumb his plan was. Alfred knew everything, after all. Alfred took one look and _knew_ that Arthur had never used this computer.

"Thought you had a laptop," Alfred said.

Arthur mentally cursed himself, his cheeks turning bright red. "I, er, I let my co-workers borrow it."

"You don't have a job."

"Neighbors. I meant neighbors." Arthur gritted his teeth and looked away. "They're borrowing my laptop, so I figured I might as well get this one-"

"Your laptop is on the couch."

Arthur's eyes widened at that. "Oh, blast it all, I just needed this old computer fixed!" he snapped, becoming defensive. "What's wrong with that?"

Alfred finally _did_ laugh. "Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to know why you're using this piece of junk rather than the laptop."

"It has my old files," Arthur stated, quickly making it up as he went along. "They're worth a lot to me."

He had no idea what the hell was on the computer.

Alfred nodded, finally setting his tools down. "Yeah, I understand that. My computer crashed on me once and there wasn't any way to get all my shit back. Kinda awful. All those files were just gone." He began opening the computer, glancing at Arthur. "Anything in particular?"

Arthur blushed once more. "Well, I'm not...I suppose it's difficult to say."

"If it's porn, don't worry; I've seen it before."

At that, the Englishman gave a start. "Wh-What the hell? Porn? Do I look like the sort of guy who would ask you to repair my computer simply because I want to look at _porn_?"

"I'm just saying!" Alfred exclaimed with a grin. "You get some weirdos out there. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to save some poor guy's porn from being erased. I mean, it's not like there's a whole _Internet_ out there with more free porn, and I told him that, but he said it was his special porn."

"Oh my God." Arthur wasn't even sure why they were having this conversation in the first place. Maybe calling Alfred over wasn't such a good idea after all. The kid was awful at conversations, especially if he wanted to revolve them around saving porn.

"That's what I said," Alfred replied, misinterpreting Arthur's uncomfortable sentence as an exclamation of interest. "But, hey, he was paying me so I wasn't gonna complain none." The young man smirked. "Also, I think this baby is just dead. Looks like the hard drive is fried. Sorry."

Arthur knew that would be the case. "No, don't apologize; that's quite alright. I'm, uh, sorry for making you come here in the first place, though."

"Nah, don't be!" Alfred stood up looking more than a bit cheerful. That was one of the many things Arthur had grown to like about the younger man, though. "I mean, I don't have much else to do these days, you know? Business gets kinda slow and my friends are usually doing their own jobs."

He wasn't sure what brought him to say his next question, but he said it anyway. "What, no girlfriend?"

Then he instantly wished he could take it back.

Alfred laughed at Arthur's straightforwardness. "Nah, no girlfriend."

Arthur hated himself when he tentatively continued. "Er, boyfriend?"

"Nope. Used to, but he kinda got irritating. What gave it away?"

Nothing had, actually. Arthur was just overly hopeful. He had to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. "I suppose we can sense each other. That's what my older brother used to say, anyway. He used me as his personal radar to find other gay men."

Alfred blinked. "No, you, too?" he asked. "You're gay?"

Arthur nodded, trying not to look too awkward (even though the conversation was awkward and he really wished Alfred would just let it go).

"I totally called that!" Alfred exclaimed. "I told my brother, I said, 'This customer I have is so gay and I'll bet you thirty bucks he is'."

Arthur wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended. "Well, what gave it away for me, then?" he asked, attempting to (slightly) flirt.

It didn't seem to work as well as he had hoped. "I dunno, you have the whole accent going on and you wear old men clothes and I saw some knitting needles the other day and you keep calling me to fix your stuff, so you probably have a thing for repairmen or something." He beamed when he noticed just how uncomfortable Arthur was. "It's probably the sexy jeans, huh?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "W-Well, it...I mean, I don't have a thing for r-repairman, really, I was- here, let me help you carry your things out." He couldn't continue, not with Alfred smiling at him like that.

"Whoa, kicking me out already? Alright, alright, I see how it is." Alfred snorted in amusement as he picked up some of his tools and allowed Arthur to pick up the rest. "Sorry if I made you nervous or anything. I was just messing around."

The Englishman shooed him to the elevator, his large eyebrows furrowed in a glare. "Perhaps next time you don't tease so much."

"Yeah, I know, I really shouldn't," Alfred replied sarcastically. The elevator doors closed before Alfred asked another question (or, rather, repeated the same one from before). "So you don't have a thing for repairman?"

"No."

"Guess you just have a thing for Alfred, then?"

Arthur blinked and glanced over at Alfred, who was grinning sheepishly right back at him. "Are you inviting me to hit your face?" Arthur cautiously asked. "Because I am this close to doing so, I swear."

"Noooo," Alfred drawled out, watching as the ground floor became closer and closer. "I'm inviting you to ask me out."

If anything had confused Arthur, it was that. "You're – what?"

"My place is a mess, so I'll see you at your apartment tomorrow at six," Alfred stated, ignoring Arthur's open-mouthed, surprised face. "We can order take-out, and I'll be paying. We'll choose a movie to watch together, and then I'll go home and we'll think about how well our first date went." Just as he finished speaking, the doors opened, and he was able to step out.

"Any questions?" he asked, grabbing the rest of his things from Arthur.

"Er, no." Arthur shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had technically asked Alfred out on a date (or, rather, Alfred had asked himself out using Arthur, however that was done).

Alfred smiled. "Good. See you tomorrow, then, Arthur!" With that, he walked away, and all Arthur could do was gape after him until the elevator doors closed.

He didn't regret letting Alfred take a hold of the situation in such a manner, though. Nope, this was all going perfectly well.

* * *

***slowly crawls off and dies*  
**


End file.
